Always: The Hunger Games from Peeta's Perspective
by Irishchic1234
Summary: Have you always wanted to get Peeta Mellark's head? Did you ever wonder just what the boy with the bread was thinking? Well, now's your chance!
1. Chapter 1

"Peeta! Wake up!"

My mother's nasally voice was what I woke up to every day of my life. Not the nicest way to start the morning.

"Peeta!" she shrieked, banging on the door.

"Coming Mother." I sighed, sliding out of my warm bed and getting ready for the day.

The whole house was bustling, being way too busy for 6:00 in the morning. But it's that way at our house everyday; we have to get up early to bake the bread for the day. And today was particularly busy, because it was Reaping Day. For those of you who don't know, the reaping is the annual selection of two teenagers to be sent to their deaths in a television show. Sounds like a picnic, right? But that's the way things are in Panem. The Hunger Games is the yearly way to remind us, the districts, that we are nothing compared to the Capitol. They have the power to destroy us, taking our children and forcing us to watch.

As for me, I live in District Twelve, the poorest of them all. Luckily, I don't have to take out tesserae, which gives you food for a year, but requires you to put more slips in at the Reaping. However, there are some people that I know who have to get tesserae. Well, to be entirely honest, one person in particular worries me more than all the others.

I walked downstairs and saw my father kneading some bread. He gave me a small smile. My dad is one of the only people I actually like in my household. My mother, as you have already seen, is ray of sunshine. (Please detect the sarcasm) My eldest brother, Blaine isn't bad; he just has no time for me. And my other brother, Rowan, is too similar to my mother for me to enjoy his company.

My father passed me an icing tube and I grinned. He knew I liked icing cakes. Hardly anybody bought them, but I liked brightening up the bakery window. In a grim place like District 12, God knows we could use some beauty.

Rowan clopped noisily down the stairs, snickering at me holding a bright pink cookie.

"Morning Peeta Bread."

I sighed. I hated my name. Living and working at a bakery, you'd imagine that my parents had more intelligence than to name me after a type of bread, but I guess not.

"Worried about the Reaping?" Rowan asked, snatching a piece of fresh bread and eating it.

"You aren't?" I asked calmly.

"No, it's my last year."

"You can still get picked."

"I only have six slips. There are twelve year old Seam kids with more than that. My money's on one of them."

I clenched my teeth and gripped the knife I was holding harder.

"It's not their fault, Rowan."

"Not their fault they're lazy and poor as dirt?"

I rolled my eyes and stalked past him, picking up a bag of flour. I needed to stop talking to him. Because I'm in love with a girl from the Seam.

Her name's Katniss Everdeen. And she has no idea I exist. Which makes the whole "love thing" sort of difficult. I've had a crush on her basically since the moment I saw her, when we were five years old. I've tried constantly over the last eleven years to get her to notice me, but so far nothing's worked. And I don't expect it ever will.

The bell on the front door of the bakery jangled and I looked up. Only to be met with the gray eyes of they guy I hate most on the planet.

Sorry that a lot of it was just rehashing the Hunger Games plotline, which I'm pretty sure almost everybody knows at this point :) Please keep reading this, I swear it will get better!


	2. Chapter 2

It was Gale Hawthorne, a teenage guy from the Seam and Katniss' hunting partner. I'm wildly envious of him; He knows the real Katniss, whereas I do not and probably never will. My father swiftly moved forward and served Gale. I'm pretty sure he has his suspicions about my feelings for Katniss and he knew I wouldn't want to help Gale.

Gale moved forward silently and laid a squirrel, freshly killed, on the counter.

"Are you willing to trade?" he asked shortly.

My father produced a loaf of bread, still warm from the oven, and handed it to Gale.

"A whole loaf of bread for one squirrel?" Gale asked, surprised.

"It's for how neatly the squirrel was killed." my father corrected.

"Shot through the eye, every single time. Tell that little hunting partner of yours that I admire that."

Gale smiled limply, gratefully accepting the bread.

"I will, sir. Thank you." he said, walking out.

He was going to the woods. To her. She was undoubtedly waiting for him there.

I sighed and went back to icing. My father passed me and clapped me on the shoulder.

"I know, son. I know."

At one o'clock, I went and got ready for the Reaping. It's meant to be a celebration, you see. We have to get dressed up in our best clothes for something monstrous. That makes complete sense, right? Anyway, I changed into a dark blue shirt, which my kind mother says is the only color that looks half-decent on me. I guess it brought out my blue eyes or something. I combed my blonde hair neatly and then observed my reflection in the mirror. I shrugged. This was as good as it was going to get.

Walking into the square, I passed Blaine and nodded to him. He was lucky, he was past reaping age. He had nothing to worry about, except me or Rowan. But on Reaping Day, you tend to just worry about yourself. Walking to the sixteen year old guy's section, i stood there quietly. Meeting Rowan's eyes over three rows of heads, I gave him a nod, hoping that conveyed my hope he wouldn't get picked. He stuck his tongue out in reply. Ah, brotherly love. Nothing like it.

I saw her then. She looked beautiful, wearing a soft blue dress. She was hugging her little sister and tucking in her shirt, probably comforting her about the Reaping. I remember how scary it was the first time. Hell, it's still scary. At two o'clock exactly, the mayor steps up and reads the history of Panem. it's the same story every year; we could probably recite it ourselves at this point. Thirteen districts rose up and rebelled against the Capitol. After a lot of fighting, mass destruction, and death, we were put down, and District 13 was obliterated completely. To constantly remind us that an uprising must never occur again, the Hunger Games began.

And here we are, seventy four years later, still doing the same stupid thing. I get so sick of it, but there's nothing I can do. I'm just one person.

"It's a time of repentance and a time of thanks." droned the mayor.

He then reads the list of past winner from District 12. We have two, only one of whom is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy, the town drunk. He stumbles up to the microphone, mutters something unintelligible and then tries to hug Effie Trinket, District 12's escort. She just manages to fend him off and then totters on her high heels to the huge glass balls, holding all of our names. She said, as she always does, in that hilarious Capitol accent.

"Ladies' first!"

She reached into the ball, hand swirling around teasingly. I shut my eyes and prayed hard. Not her. Not her. Please don't let it be her...It's not her. It's not Katniss Everdeen. It's her twelve-year old sister, Primrose.

The crowd began muttering angrily when they found out a twelve year old had been chosen. Prim was taking small steps forward, her fists clenched by her sides and her chin raised high. Her shirt had come untucked again. I heard a disturbance somewhere off to my left and looked around to see Katniss yelling,

"Prim!"

She shoved her way forward, but the other kids let her pass through. She reached her sister's side and, with one swift motion, pushed her back.

"I volunteer!" she gasped.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Oh, Katniss, no...

She's brought up on stage, and Effie begins talking to her. But I was zoning it out. I couldn't think. Why did it have to be her? Why would she have to volunteer? It can't possibly get worse, can it? I only came back into focus as Effie said,

"Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

If anyone clapped, I would have punched them in the face. Luckily, no one did. As one, we all raised three fingers on our left hand to our lips and held them out to Katniss. It's an old sign of our district, letting everyone know that we don't approve with what's happening.

Haymitch stumbled forward and threw an arm around Katniss.

"I like her! Lot's of- Spunk!" he says triumphantly.

"More than you! More than you!" he shouts, pointing directly into a camera.

Who does he think he's taunting, the camera man? Or is he so inebriated that he thinks he could be taunting the Capitol itself? Haymitch took one misstep and tumbled off of the stage and into the crowd.

Once that drama ended and the victor was rushed off on a stretcher, Effie started up again,

"What an exciting day!" she burbled.

""But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"

She wobbled over to the boys names and hurriedly snatched one out, probably wanting to get this embarrassment over with.

"Peeta Mellark." she said confidently.

Apparently, it can get worse. Much, much worse


End file.
